


The Word

by hannahrhen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, Embarrassed Dean, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Happy Dean, Languages and Linguistics, Laughter During Sex, M/M, No Spoilers, Sexual Content, Swearing, Sweet, Teasing, Top Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-13 12:53:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3382259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahrhen/pseuds/hannahrhen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The horrible thing was, Cas had figured it out as soon as <em>the word</em> had come out of his mouth, startling Dean and stuttering the conversation to a halt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [museaway](https://archiveofourown.org/users/museaway/gifts).



> Inspired by [this tumblr post](http://hannahrhen.tumblr.com/post/111279574818/eveanyn-i-feel-like-such-a-professional-writer).

The horrible thing was, Cas had figured it out as soon as  _the word_  had come out of his mouth, startling Dean and stuttering the conversation to a halt. 

Dean caught the dawning smile, the actual delight, just before he looked away, grumbling and clearing his throat, but it was too damned late to salvage the moment. Now he just had to hope Cas wouldn’t use it against—

“You’re blushing.”

Oh, goddammit.

He turned his back on Cas and then tripped over his own foot when he couldn’t decide which way to storm out. Flailed. Dean  _flailed_. He finally settled on the corner of the rug and dropped his arms at his sides, defeated.

Cas poked, because that’s what Cas did. “Why does what I said embarrass you?”

“Just … not when … “ Each word was painful. “Not when … we’re out here. In the daylight.”

“Dean, there is no daylight in the bunker.” And Cas’ tone announced that he was teasing, yes, that he sure as hell wasn’t going to let this go, and Dean just wanted to be sucked bodily into the ground right then, Poltergeist-house-style.

“You  _know_  what I mean.” 

“It’s just a word, Dean. You use its synonyms all the time.”

“No, I—” Okay,  _yes_ , he did, but, “Those aren’t the same actual thing, Cas.”

“You call Sam a ‘dick’ all the time. You told that last ghost to ‘suck my dick,’ Dean. Your exact words. I assume you weren’t being literal, incidentally.”

And Dean knew he was being ridiculous and should stop staring at the rug, should turn around now and let Cas just enjoy the hell out of his red face, his obvious discomfort over four simple letters. But he was still kinda hoping for some type of Omega 13 to reset this damned thing so he could change the subject before Cas even had a chance to say—

“ _Cock_ , Dean. It’s just another word.”

“It’s not just another word!” And, fine, he’d turn—turn and walk just past Cas to the other side of the room, toward the kitchen where he could do something useful to end this conversation. Make a sandwich. Pop the cap off a beer. Open a vein.

Cas followed him. Of course. And it had been an awkwardly long period of time since they had made eye contact, and Cas’ tone was less amused and more determined when he said, “What is it that bothers you about that one word, Dean?”

And Dean stopped with his head pressed against the doorjamb. “Would you—” And that wouldn’t work, and neither would, “Just don’t—”

“Look,” he said finally. “It’s not the same thing. ‘Dick’ or whatever— _that’s_  just a word. It’s what I’ve always said. What Sam says. What—” He waved an arm in Cas’ direction. “What everyone _just says_ , Cas. The other thing—”

“ _Cock_ , Dean.”

“That! Yes, that.” He finally pulled off the attempted debraining against the wooden frame, turned back to Cas—who was getting a good look at the flames all over Dean’s face, he wouldn’t kid himself. “That’s … what I think when … you know.” He finally met Cas’ eyes. “You know.”

And Cas was still enjoying this way too much, Christ. He had his arms crossed over his chest and that look he got when he was pretending not to get something but was really luring Dean into a trap. The kind that ended up in something good for Dean but not without a few squirmy moments in the meantime.

“When we’re together,” Cas said, and, hey, he could still embrace the euphemism. Thank heavens for small— “When we fuck,” he added helpfully. Yeah, okay. Great. “And it embarrasses you when we’re not because … ?”

And there was no explanation for it, because Dean knew it didn’t make sense. Because how did you explain that “dick” was a neutral word in his vocabulary, while “cock” meant …

“Cock” meant … he liked it.

And, God,  _did he like it._

_Cock_  was …

( … Dean on his hands and knees, Cas hunched over his back, skin slick with sweat and touching everywhere. Dean ready,  _readied_ , and Cas’ voice dark in his ear as he nudged against Dean, pushed a little and then a little more and said, “Tell me what you want, Dean. Tell me what you want me to do,” and there was only one thing Dean wanted, and he lurched back a little into that hot pressure and opened his mouth, and his voice and his body gave the same answer, the only answer … )

“Fine.” He stepped closer to Cas and hoped this somehow was leading to the bedroom, to every dirty imagining now stacking up in his mind, even if it was doing it in the worst, most awkward, excruciating way possible. “I’ll say it if it will shut you up. I’ll say it all you want.”

He offered his own stupid grin to match the one returning to Cas’s face, joyful again, and, yeah, Dean was gonna get some, and that made Cas’ particular brand of torment worthwhile. “Cock, Cas!” And he couldn’t not laugh, but he was going to do it anyway: “Cock,  _cock_ ,  _COCK!_ ” And he reached out his arms to gig things along and—

“Jesus, I really hope you guys are talking about building a chicken coop.”

Because Sam, of course—of  _course_ , had chosen that moment to return. That very fucking moment.

"Dick."


	2. Lemon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changed the rating to **Explicit** based on this chapter. ... Yep.

Amazing how easily that tickle in his gut changed from an urge to laugh to this warm want. How they wound around each other until they felt like the same thing.

Cas had pushed him from his hands and knees onto his belly—tucked a pillow under his hips to hold him up just so, and settled on Dean like a blanket. But they sure as fuck weren’t sleeping.

He also knew that wasn’t over by a long shot. Somewhere in the bunker, Sam was nursing amusement and irritation about the scene he’d walked into—no amount of deflection could explain why Dean had practically been shouting … _that fuckin’ word_  at Cas while just getting ready to grope him. And Cas—Cas’s voice still had the abraded echo of his own laughter, loose and crude and loud, and so little like anything Dean had heard from him before.

“Dean.”

Like there were other people in their bedroom and Cas still had to get his attention with a snap. Dean shifted under Cas’ weight, shied away from the fingers that were teasing at the bend of his waist, threat of a vestigial chuckle averted. Spread his legs a little more and shifted up his hips. Kept that nice pressure on his dick—his good, red-blooded, capital-D  _dick_ , which just wanted to stop talking semantics and get down to business.

Dean was still humming his amusement as Cas slid sweet between his cheeks, back and forth, nice and—oh, God,  _slow_ —with both of them covered in enough lube to soothe any possible tension, make things easy. He turned his face to the side, to where Cas was stretching to nuzzle at his cheek. “What,” he said finally to a question he’d almost forgotten, and he gasped a little with the word, want and impatience and still that ridiculous humor bound together.

Could feel the fucking grin on Cas’ face,  _fuuuck_. Knew what was coming before the a-hole opened his mouth. “What do you need, Dean?” and no amount of swallowing his own smile was going to hide that he was still—so, so affectionately—tormenting Dean. He brought a hand up to tease gentle fingers into the hair that was starting to grow a little long, and his voice was dark and humid in Dean’s ear, and Dean couldn’t not turn into it.

“Tell me what you  _want_ ,” Cas said, with less of a smile this time.

Dean bucked up a little in retaliation, let Cas’ sweet, fat dick press against his hole just once, barely going in, before slipping back out and away again. Savored the little grunt it drew from Cas to smother his body’s deep outrage, and he shifted his hips again just to keep everyone’s interest up. His own throbbing dick was starting to work at that pillow in tiny thrusts, ready to get this show on the road, so,  _mission accomplished_.

Cas hummed. “That’s a good hint, I suppose, but can you tell me what you  _want_ , Dean Winchester?” A kiss to his cheekbone when Dean wanted to hide his face. “Can you say it?”

 _Use your words_ , Dean heard the unspoken, and things kinda were less funny now and more about Cas’ hands sliding down to grip his hips, shuffling his knees out a little to spread Dean’s legs wider around them and—fuck—open him. More. Open him  _more._

Dean groaned into the pillow, heard the happy huff in his ear.

“You know what I want,” he gritted out, but Cas had precisely removed what leverage he had, and all he could do was bow his back a little in invitation. No— _insistence_ , you fucker. God. Now Cas was the one keeping things in control, moving back and forth in the furrow of Dean’s ass. Teasing and taunting and  _not going in_ , goddammit.

Cas took the hand that was clawing into the sheets. Laced their fingers together so Dean could squeeze, tight and desperate and rhythmic like he  _needed it_. Kissed him after another frustrated groan. 

Dean could practically hear his dick shouting at him to move this along, a-hole.

Dean’s dick was getting  _pissed._

“Fine. _Fine._  If you need me to say it, I’ll say it.” And he took a deep breath and whispered, low: “I want … your  _penis_.” And in a burst Cas was either coughing or giggling—maybe both—and the bed was shaking, and Dean didn’t even know if Cas heard him continue with “manhood? Erection? What about prick?” The bed was still quivering under Cas’ giggles—that’s definitely what those were. “Phallus? Uhhh, I dunno … hot beef injection?” And he was out.

Cas was trailing off, warm and alive and still vibrating against his back, when Dean perked up and added, “The way you squeeze my lemon, I’m gonna fall right out of—”

 _That_  got a gentle bite to the space between neck and shoulder, and Dean shivered. Cas was up and off him then, but just a little as he pulled Dean back to his knees and got himself—oh. Oh,  _God_ —lined up. Fucking _finally._

Dean bore his own weight again and shook a little. It burned going in, always did no matter how much lube they used, and Dean’s fingers were back twisting in the sheets, grabbing for anything while he rocked back into Cas’ touch.

Yeah, he fuckin’  _needed_  it.

Then that voice once more, breathless now, but always tolerant and fond. “You don’t have to say it, you know.  _Dean._ ” Reassurance pressed into the word. And then Cas waited until he slid home, fully seated, until Dean’s moan was exhausted to silence and he was just beginning to pant. “Your body—the way you move, the way you sound. They all tell me what I need to know.”

And Dean would say it—he wasn’t a complete prude given that he had Cas’ … ugh, dick— _dick_  all the way in his ass, but maybe not  _today_. Maybe not right  _now_.

“If it—oh,  _God, Cas_ —makes you feel any better,” Dean said, and his breath stuttered as Cas’ hand finally trailed around his waist, over his belly, and down, down,  _down_. “It’s … it’s all I’m thinkin’ about.”


	3. Church Laughin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean had forgotten what it was like to laugh like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear to God, I think this is finally the end.
> 
> Maybe.

Bobby always called it “church laughin’,” when they were kids, Dean and Sam. When one of them would say something stupid or too damned smart-assed and the next thing they knew, Sam would be snorting, and Dean would be choking, and they’d be dodging their dad’s dirty looks or cuffs to the back of the head, and then they’d be practically on the floor, dying. The more pissed Dad got or the worse the place—oh, shit, the funnier everything was.

Sam once had collapsed to his actual knees in the back of an honest-to-God church, wheezing into his clenched fists while their dad was stealing holy water.

(He’d have to tell Cas about that one sometime.)

They didn’t have much of a name for it anymore because they didn’t laugh like that anymore. Or hadn’t, for a long time. But things were good, for once.  _For once._  Maybe they were waiting for the next thing to hit, but, yeah, they’d wait—for right now, they had a home, enough food, and even some free time to just sit around and bullshit with each other. Dean had forgotten what it was like to laugh until his stomach actually hurt and tears streamed down his face, but, lord, he was starting to remember.

And even … even trying to figure out what was so damned funny sounded stupid. It was Cas saying, low and deadpan, “Candygram for Mongo,” as Dean walked to the door of the bunker to let Charlie in, which—okay,  _Mel Brooks_ , sure, but Dean’d only heard it a thousand times, so how could it still be funny? Was it the voice? The ridiculousness of Cas quoting Blazing Saddles like a champ that left Charlie pushing past him asking what his damage was?

Or it was Sam—Sam!—mock-whispering to Cas, “Playgirl, May 2015,” when Dean pulled himself out from underneath the car covered in oil, dirt, and sweat, and one-hundred-percent disgusting, and Cas waggling his goddamned eyebrows like a lecher.

That thing where neither Dean nor Sam can say “chocolate-covered strawberries” without the other one almost puking from convulsions.  _What the actual fuck._  Jesus, at the grocery store, all Sam had to do was hold up the package of that cheap melting chocolate with the picture on the box and they almost got asked to leave the premises. (And Cas had no goddamned idea where that had come from, and Cas not knowing, Cas standing over him and saying, “Dean! You need to bring yourself under control—Dean!” was part of making it so funny.)

So, they had in-jokes. Actual honest-to-God in-jokes that didn’t involve their shitty, shitty history. How tired and close to death they were. How many stab wounds this time. (“Sixty-nine” only went so far as a punchline when someone was at risk of bleeding out.) They were the stupid kind of in-jokes that just pissed off the non-in-joke people,  _those losers_ , and they were  _awesome_.

And the sex—oh, goddamn, the sex was not immune to it, either. A nip in the right place could make Dean actually giggle, and the sheer honest-to-God joy of just kissing Cas after being apart for a day was enough to make them snort gracelessly into each others’ mouths. Gross and stupid and really great at the same time.

And then there was the nuclear option.

***

Cas is holding a grudge, maybe, about the thing with the chocolate-covered (heh.  _Heh-heh._  Hoo!) strawberries, because the dude can wait Dean out. They’re in bed, on sheets that probably needed washing two days before with what Dean and Cas have been doing to them, but who gives a fuck. Cas is on his back because …  _because_. It’s all Dean can do not to go glassy-eyed and dumb when Cas says simply, “I want to see your face when you’re inside me,” or, worse, “You’re beautiful when you come,” because, “jeez, Cas, come  _on_ ,” but at least it’s not when he’s saying—

“You really do have a magnificent cock, Dean!” cheery and bright as the sun, like he’s complimenting Dean’s chili-with-beans, and the look on his face says everything about what he’s trying to do, and, damn it, it always works. No matter how hard Dean is thrusting into him, no matter how tightly Cas’ thighs are squeezing his waist or how much the scratch marks on Dean’s back are tingling in the good way, no matter how much the tension in his gut is saying he’s close, so close … Dean is gonna laugh.

Every time.

“Damn it,” he says, gasping, and he totally loses his rhythm—has to pull a hand from the pillow next to Cas’ scruffy head and grab for the headboard to steady himself. Tries to give Cas a glare while he’s still catching his breath, but Cas is smiling and looks completely immune to retribution. Dean has figured out that calling it “topping” is  _a goddamned lie_. “You tryin’ to make me lose it?” and punctuates the question with another sharp little push just so Cas knows which “it” Dean is referring to.

“Is that a risk?” he’s asked, and Cas reaches up for Dean’s face and pulls him into another messy kiss.

“You really need to stop talking about my  _cock_  when I’m fucking you,” Dean finally manages after pulling back from Cas’ mouth, and, yeah, he’s proud, and Cas is proud of him. 

Cas chuckles, then, and retorts, “When should I talk about your cock, then? Over dinner?” and that just gets Dean snorting in his face again. At least he’s learned not to mention Sam by name at these moments.

Dean’s cock—yeah,  _fine_ —doesn’t find any of this a boner-killer. If anything, the way Cas’ body slithers around underneath Dean when he’s amused, the way the contractions of his stomach muscles jostle Dean just a bit, his heels pattering against Dean’s back and ass when Cas is teasing him, that smile …

That smile …

_Whatever_ , it’s enough to keep him hot and needy. He inhales his last chuckle back in and gives Cas one more kiss, gets a grip on Cas’ thigh and starts back up again, slow and steady, stealing the words from Cas’ smart mouth and driving thought from his mind.

So, Cas shuts up then, for awhile. Reaches one hand up to pry Dean’s grip from the headboard and lock their fingers together. Uses the other to pull him back into another kiss, and another, to tug on the bristly hair at the back of his neck. Cas is tight and hot around him, hard but not yet urgent against Dean’s belly, so fuckin’ good, and seemingly content to kiss and touch, watch and wait for whatever Dean is going to do to him after.

Dean has plans for him after.

_After_ isn’t that long now, and Dean is drawn down chest to chest with his own angel, and he can feel Cas’ mouth at his temple, still kissing and tasting him, grunting in that good way when Dean hits a good angle, and Dean could do this forever and ever and ever. Then, around a groan, Cas says, rough and earnest like he’s just discovered it—

“I love your cock, Dean.”

And Dean doesn’t laugh, that time—he just gasps out and comes suddenly, hard and deep and helpless, with Cas’ hand on his neck and a smile on that beautiful face. 

**Author's Note:**

> [Find me on tumblr](http://hannahrhen.tumblr.com/)! And thank you for reading!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Fight the Power](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3422063) by [Letzi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Letzi/pseuds/Letzi)




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